


Deep River

by PartTwo



Series: All That Never Glittered [3]
Category: Portal (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blue Sky (Portal), F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post Blue Sky, Sad Ending, Terminal Illnesses
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-12
Updated: 2020-12-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:02:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24687340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PartTwo/pseuds/PartTwo
Summary: Wheatley never loved anyone, like he loved his children. Chell, though the love of his life, didn’t compare in the slightest to the deep, profound, unadulterated love he felt for his four children. They were his entire world.(First posted, but not first chronologically, of all the ATNG Epilogues)
Relationships: Chell/Wheatley (Portal)
Series: All That Never Glittered [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1188574
Comments: 43
Kudos: 25





	1. Unadulterated Love

**Author's Note:**

> I'm choosing not to tag some of the archive warnings so as to not spoil the ending, which does, in fact, have some Sad Stuff, Bois. Just to put it out of your mind: There is no graphic violence, r*pe/non-con or anything even remotely similar, underage (unless you count the Existence Of Children, in which case whoops). With that and the final tag, uh... Yeah. Should be sufficiently spoiled for you. 
> 
> BTW, for those of you with no faith in me: The full, over 10k words of this fic have already been written!!! I'm trying to just edit and post them approximately weekly.

Wheatley never loved anyone, _anyone_ like he loved his children. Chell, though the love of his life, didn’t compare in the slightest to the deep, profound, unadulterated love he felt for his four children. They were his entire world. 

When Sophie came along, a girl with sandy hair and electric blue eyes just like his, there was nothing but joy in his heart. She was strong and healthy, a talented baker, just like her mother, but a playful girl who got on well with anyone she met. Wheatley admired her grace and her hard work. 

The youngest two, the twins, Maya and Luis were like polar opposite wonders of the world, forever glued to each other at the hip. 

Maya was far more like her mother, both in appearance and personality. Silent and reserved. Thoughtful. She had a technical mind and found Uncle Garrett to be her best friend. She was his little henchman as the two of them improved and fiddled with Foxglove in the odd hours of the night. Wheatley was forever in awe of her intelligence. 

Luis was a leader. Quick as a wip, pragmatic, empathetic. He seemed to lack doubt in his heart, mind and soul. Aaron taught him the art of settling arguments and mindful distribution, and it was apparent by the time he was thirteen that he might take up the torch of the de facto leader of Eaden. Wheatley only wished he could have been as strong and charismatic as him. 

He would never admit to having a favorite, because really, he _loved_ all of his children equally, but however absolutely madly in awe of his other three children he was, it was obvious that the one he was most amazed by was his second child, Rafael. 

Rafael was born with that same mid-olive skin as their mother, and eyes that he was told were like his - however steel grey they were. They smiled like him. They laughed like him. The edges of their eyes crinkled in that same upward little way, full of mirth and joy. They were strong and lean, like their mother, and with that same otherworldly grace Wheatley had only ever seen Below. They were weightless. 

Wheatley was absolutely in love, the moment he laid eyes on them. 

* * *

Wheatley wasn’t good at soccer, but the local children loved to play, his included, and they begged him to be their goalie. He was basically dragged by a team of five of them as soon as he left the schoolhouse, half of his ungraded tests underneath his other arm. 

“What, no fair!” Ellie cried, as she saw them coming from over the hill. She’d really come out of her shell since Sophie was born. “He’s like a million feet tall, he covers half of the goal just by existing!” 

It was true, the cheap, fabric-and-plastic goals the children had staked down in the field were not exceptionally large, and Wheatley blocked a significant amount of it just by simply _being_ there. 

“You can go get Chell to play your goalie,” Max helpfully pointed out, as he sat at the sidelines with Sophie, ready to watch the action, “And to be fair, she could probably score on Wheatley from across the field.” 

“Hey!” Wheatley said, with a minor amount of actual offense, “I’m not that bad!” 

Sophie punched Max without looking up from her book, “Don’t talk about my dad like that.” 

“Thank you.” He said, slightly triumphantly. 

“You know he’s probably right, Dad,” She said, flatly. 

“Hey- I can still ground you, young lady.” 

Luis sat down in the grass and sighed heavily. Though Maya wasn’t nearly so vocal as either Rafael or Luis, she crossed her arms and drummed her fingers against her forearms. Impatient. 

Luis, however, had not the first problem with complaining. “Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, who _cares_ if it’s not fair?” He whined, “I just wanna kick your asses-”

“Mind your language!” Wheatley shouted, still not even atthe goal. 

“-Sorry! Kick your _butts_ already. Dad can go sit on the sidelines and we can play no-goalie if you want.” 

“Yeah, let’s do that!” Ellie said. 

Wheatley was one-part relieved he didn’t have to dodge assault-from-soccer-ball for the next hour or two before sunset, but almost a little disappointed. He stood at the apex of the hill, contemplating going home or staying, and gazed down at Max and Sophie who were giggling among themselves slightly conspiratorially. 

Sophie was much younger than Max and Jason, but they loved her since she could talk. There was always trouble for the three of them to get into. Wheatley smiled fondly as they turned around, noticed they were being watched, and suddenly scooted away from each other, and almost made a point of pretending like they weren’t talking just a second ago. 

_Suspicious little beasties._

He turned around to leave the field, but Raf called after him. “Wait! Dad! Stay and watch! Watch me beat Ellie!” 

“Oh I don’t know, Raf, I have work to-” 

Luis seemed to jump on the guilt-trip bandwagon, “Oh come on dad, _puh-leaseeee-_ ” 

“ _Pleaseeeeeeee-”_ Raf continued.

“Yeah, Dad!” Sophie contributed. 

“Alright, alright fine! Man alive, you guys are persistent,” Wheatley said, as he came walked just slightly down the hill and sat next to Sophie and Max. He sighed a fond little sigh, though he was certain that these kids were all far too old to be pulling these stunts, he was willing to let it slide. 

He pulled out the papers left for him to grade and a green pen - he hated using _red,_ there was something angry and mean about a red mark on a paper, something polite and lovely about a gentle correction in green. He went through and slowly began grading. He was told by the board a time or two that he was too lenient of a grader, but wrong wasn’t always _wrong,_ per se… 

He’d gotten lost in the reflexive act of going through each step, effectively ignoring the game as he tried, at least somewhat, to finish grading against his knee. 

An hour must’ve passed when Rafael poked his shoulder. “Uh… Dad?” 

“Hmm?” He was only sort of paying attention.

“Dad, I fell and my knee is bleeding like… A lot.” 

Wheatley looked up, expecting a minor skin. Though admittedly, when he first saw a skinned knee he just about fainted, he quickly learned what was worth panicking and what wasn’t. 

The little cut was basically gushing blood, red lines trickled down Rafael’s exposed leg, and Wheatley’s eyes went wide, looking up at their face and then down at their small scrape. 

“Oh my holy- okay okay, come on- Sorry kids! Game’s over. Sophie, help them clean up, I’m taking Raf back.” 

Wheatley haphazardly shoved his stuff back into his bag, putting his pen between his teeth, and grabbing their hand to walk them home. As they got up the hill, he asked, “How bad does it hurt? How long ago did you cut your knee?” 

“It doesn’t really hurt, but I cut it awhile ago. When Luis cuts his knee it usually stops bleeding way sooner than this…” 

“Hm…” Wheatley was thinking of if Chell would have a minute to help him dress the wound, he never had a skill for putting on bandages. “Well as long as you aren’t in a lot of pain.”

They shrugged. “It’s fine.”


	2. New Detroit School Of Muisc

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Beginning Of The Angst

Rafael was twelve when they had heard the advertisement on the classical music station on the radio - a station their siblings often only begrudgingly let them play. A music school in New Detroit. They’d written down the phone number hastily as it came on, and looked wildly between their siblings. 

“I wanna go,” Rafael announced after the ad ended.

“Do you think mom and dad will let you?” Maya asked, “I’m sure they’re going to have reservations.”

“Reservations-smchecervations, you should ask!” Luis said, “It’s not like you don’t have a good argument for it.” 

“What, exactly, is that argument?” Maya retorted. “They want to?” 

“Well  _ yeah, _ ” Luis said, “They want to and they’re already like basically the best singer in town. And they can play piano… Kinda, at least.” 

“True enough,” Maya muttered, “And it’s not like they’re that good at anything else.” 

“Hey!” Raf said, bristled and slightly indignant, “I  _ am  _ good at other things.” 

“You are!” Luis said, shooting a dirty look at Maya, “What she  _ meant  _ to say was that you don’t really like anything else, so you don’t try,  _ isn’t that right Maya? _ And maybe don’t you think you should apologize for saying something like that?” 

There was a certain sharpness in Luis' voice as he said things like that. 

She crossed her arms and huffed. Sophie, who had been quiet this whole time, finally chimed in. “He’s not wrong.” 

“Sorry Raf…” Maya muttered. 

“What’re you sorry  _ for? _ ” Luis lead. 

“For saying that you’re not good at anything…” 

Luis turned to Rafael, and looked at them with a hopeful expression. “Apology accepted. You’re forgiven,” Rafael said. 

Sophie finally closed her book and set it down on the table. “Okay, so Raf, you gonna ask?”

“Yeah, probably,” They said, “But I have no clue how to make mom agree. Dad might but Mom’s definitely gonna need some work.” 

“Is there anything else you can see yourself wanting to do?” Sophie asked, “I want the bakery, Maya’s got Foxglove, Luis wants to run for mayor when the mayoral elections come. What do you want to do?” 

Rafael was silent for a long time. They’d never thought about it, really, nobody ever asked. Everyone else seemed to already know what they wanted, but they… Didn’t. They tried to imagine themselves working in the bakery with Sophie or helping Maya with Foxglove, running (and probably losing) the Mayoral elections against Luis, working the fields, but they couldn’t. They tried seeing themselves as a teacher, but they weren’t really good at any subjects in particular. They tried to see themselves as a parent, but who in Eaden did they want to marry?

They tried to see themselves, then, as an opera singer. They tried to see themselves as Tino Rossi or Marian Anderson, one of the real oldies, standing on stage and singing to crowds of people, they tried to see themselves teaching others the love of music, they tried seeing themselves singing on the radio… 

_ That  _ they could picture themselves doing.

“I want to be an opera singer,” They said, finally. 

“Well,” Maya said, “Then you have to tell mom and dad that, and you have to go to that school.” 

* * *

“Absolutely not.” Chell said, flatly.

She looked at Rafael’s slightly tearful face and felt a little bad, sure, but this wasn’t even an argument to have. 

“It’s audition only!” Rafael said, their voice growing increasingly choked up and high, “The least you could do is let me try!” 

“And if you get in? I’m supposed to just ship a twelve-year-old out to the city without anyone there?” 

“It’s a formal school!” They argued, actually beginning to cry, “With teachers and a dormitory and classes - I’d still get a high school degree issued at the end and everything.”

Chell sighed. “I said no, Rafael. Enough.” 

Rafael looked like they wanted to argue with her, but their face got redder and redder before they finally just stood up and left, walking upstairs and not-quite-slamming the door to what she assumed was their bedroom. 

For the next week after that, Rafael barely talked to anyone, barely ate anything. The other kids, eventually, joined suit, few more than two or three words uttered to Chell at any point in time. They’d holed up in Rafael’s room. Occasionally, when she passed by, she’d hear whispering, sometimes crying. 

It was late at night when the first real argument she’d had with Wheatley in a long time happened. 

“Come on, Chell, you have to let them go,” He urged, “They’re miserable. The least you can do is let them audition.” 

“I looked into the place,” She said, “They don’t have a prayer. They’re a self-taught twelve-year-old, do you think they’re gonna be able to compete with the teenagers that they’re gonna be up against?” 

“So you don’t even want them to try?” 

“I don’t want them thinking they can throw a tantrum and get what they want.” 

Chell had never seen that expression cross Wheatley’s face, and likely would never see it again. It was akin to anger, a deep offence that caused his mouth to curl into a strong, angry frown, his brow to knit together. His voice changed in a way that she’d not heard before or since. “Are you kidding me?” 

“What?” She raised an eyebrow.  _ What the hell do you know, Wheatley? _

“Tantrum? You think this is a tantrum?” 

“Yes,” She said flatly, “That’s what this is.” 

“I just- I- You-  _ Bloody hell,  _ Chell, they won’t even talk to you! It’s been  _ days!  _ They spend all their free time  _ fucking crying!  _ Have you not asked them  _ why  _ they wanted to do this? Hmm?” 

"I don't  _ need to, _ " She said sharply, "I know my kids, Wheatley, it's a passing fancy." 

" _ Your kids? _ " He laughed, it was manic and angry, incredulous, "Your bloody kids? Right. Right, I haven't had the first hand in raising them, you're absolutely correct, Chell, they may very well be your kids, but you don't seem to know the first fucking thing about them! You know what they told me, when I had the good sense to ask them why? They said they didn't want to do anything here. All they can see themselves doing is singing. That's all I can see them doing, too." 

“And  _ I  _ can’t see them succeeding.” 

Wheatley’s face contorted further, betrayed and angry. He’d never raised his voice like he did then, it dropped an octave, without even realizing it his chest stuck out a little more. “Do you even hear yourself?” 

“I do,” She said, “And what I said was final.” 

“So you want to completely ignore everything they want, not even let them  _ try,  _ because you don’t think it’ll go well? What does that teach them?” 

“I don’t have to justify anything to you,” She said slightly haughtily. She felt like this was a losing argument. 

“It teaches them that they shouldn’t try at anything difficult. Isn’t that what you told me  _ not  _ to do? You can’t go back on that now that it’s convenient.” 

“I’m not going back on anything!” She’d managed not to betray her irritation until then, but it was starting to seep into how she talked, “I just don’t want them to go. That’s it. I don’t care what you, the kids,  _ or  _ Rafael has to say. I’m their mother. What I have to say is final.” 

“Am I not their father?” Wheatley slammed a hand down onto the counter louder than he probably should’ve, but he didn’t seem to notice, “What do you think our job is, here? To tell them that their dreams are stupid and they shouldn’t follow them?” 

“Yes, if they are!” Chell finally shouted, “If Rafael has no chance of getting into a stupid music school, miles and miles away from where we can take care of them anyways, and  _ I  _ don’t want to let them go, yes! I’ll tell them tomorrow that their dreams are stupid and they shouldn’t follow them.” 

“So you’re agreeing this is a dream of theirs?” Wheatley’s face was starting to get red, his hands shaky as he ran them through his hair and paced, “So it’s not just a passing fancy?” 

“Don’t twist my words around,” Chell warned. 

“I’m not! You just don’t have any reason to say no other than ‘I said so’. What am I supposed to tell them, huh?” He whipped his head around, and in a mocking, saccharine voice said, “‘Mummy thinks your dreams are stupid, dear, I’m sorry.’” 

“I never said that!”

“You just did! You can’t tell me you didn’t, I was right there! What am I supposed to tell them?” 

“That I said no and that’s all they need to know.”

“ _ But it’s not! _ ” Wheatley cried, “They need to know why!  _ I  _ need to know why! You just don’t have an answer!” 

“I know what’s best for my kids,” Chell reiterated, dropping her voice low.

“Right,  _ your  _ kids. Keep forgetting that don’t I?” 

“I basically had to parent you,” Chell said, “So I don’t think I need to justify not calling them ours. You don’t fucking  _ know  _ anything, Wheatley, least of all what’s good for  _ my kids. _ ” 

Tears were streaming down Wheatley’s face -  _ He’s an angry crier, huh  _ \- as he took a slow, shaky, steadying breath. “Alright then,” He said, as he walked towards the door and slowly began unlacing and putting his shoes on. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

“Clearing my head,” He said. His voice was deep and growly from shouting. 

“Yeah, sure, the last time you cleared your head you-” 

Before she could finish the biting remark, Wheatley had stepped outside, cutting her off, “Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice had a strange tone as he said that, a tone that made Chell honestly somewhat uncomfortable.

He shut the door quietly behind him and Chell was left staring at the door. This was ridiculous. This was fucking ridiculous. He couldn’t just  _ listen to her,  _ could he?

* * *

She rose early the next morning. Wheatley still wasn’t home. She told herself she didn’t care, she had kids and a job to worry about. If he wanted to go play runaway, he could. 

As the kids, one by one, filed down in the morning, Chell put on her best face. “Good morning Rafael,” She said, as sweet and lovely as she could. They sat at the table with a glass of juice, and she put a hand on their shoulder. They cringed away from her touch and glared at her with red, tired eyes. 

“Do you want to talk?” She said. 

“No.”

“Are you-”

“Leave them alone,” Luis said, “They said they didn’t want to talk.”

Rafael drank the rest of their cup of juice in a single gulp, walked around Chell without looking at her, washed out the cup and left it on the drying rack, before exiting, completely barefoot, out the back door. Luis sighed, muttering something about being too stubborn for their own good, before putting on his shoes and grabbing their siblings sandals and walking out after them. 

Maya left in similar silent fashion, but Sophie stayed, clearly mostly because she had to. She silently put on her apron and rolled up her sleeves, preparing to begin with the work for the morning. 

Chell tossed her daughter an affectionate look, smiling as she brought a couple of proofed sourdough loaves out. 

“I’m mad at you, too,” She said bluntly. 

Chell’s smile disappeared almost instantly. “It can’t be everyone against me.” 

“But it is.” 

“You understand where I’m coming from, don’t you?” 

“No? Why would I?” Sophie’s voice had an uncontrollable venom to it, in that moment, “We all heard your shouting match.” 

Chell cringed. “You know I didn’t mean any of that.”

“News to me,” She said. Sophie kneaded the dough in front of her with surprising force and irritation. 

“I didn’t mean it like that.” 

“Raf heard it. I don’t know what you  _ did  _ mean, but whatever it was, they certainly didn’t take the way you meant it.” 

“Well, I just meant that…” 

“That…?” Sophie stopped what she was doing and turned to Chell, staring up at her mother with a calm, open expression. She was angry, Chell could tell, absolutely livid with her, but she was willing to hear an answer. 

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea to send them out so far.” 

Sophie sighed, rubbing her floury palm against her temple. “ _ Why  _ though?” 

Chell didn’t answer. 

“Fine. Be that way.” Sophie said.

The next two hours were the longest two hours of Chell’s life, watching as Sophie dutifully finished her work, cleaned herself off, and left. Chell tried to put her frustrations into her work, but all she found was more frustrations. 

_ I said no already. Why isn’t that enough? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate Title: Chell And Wheatley Have Marital Problems
> 
> Anyways guys, I hope you enjoyed this chapter and this last week as much as I did, I’ve been very excited to post this fic. I sort of like this format more than my usual format of “write without a schedule or posting time”. 
> 
> Here’s my T[umblr](https://parttwoactuallywrites.tumblr.com/) if you wanna chat and ask me questions, here’s my [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PartTwoTweets) for the same. Concrit, as per the usual, is always welcome - ESPECIALLY this chapter and the next. Idk if I wrote a realistic fight


	3. The Least Bit Surprised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was my birthday yesterday! And despite having a mcfucking ROUGH time, I'm gonna post all of Deep River over the next week or so ish!

Chell didn’t go looking for the kids, so much as she just sort of found them while taking a walk. Wheatley sat with the kids in the field that the kids played soccer in, and from the hill that obscured the field below, Chell quietly listened in. 

“I don’t know, Raf, she’s not doing this because she doesn’t love you,” Wheatley said. Chell couldn’t see them, but she could almost imagine him, kid under his arm, squeezing Rafael slightly. She heard muffled sniffles and sobs. 

“She said it was stupid.” Rafael’s voice was small and weak. Chell’s heart broke a little. 

“Now she didn’t mean that…” He murmured. It sounded like he’d kissed the top of their head. 

“Well, that’s what she said,” Maya said. 

“That’s… True,” Luis concurred. “That  _ is  _ what she said.” 

“I don’t think she knows what she means,” Sophie said, “Though to be fair I have a hunch.” 

“Well?” Luis led, “Share with the class.” 

Sophie sighed. “It just sounds like she doesn’t wanna let go. New Detroit’s a long ways away, and you’re twelve.” 

“It’s a real school, though…” 

“I know that. She knows that. Doesn’t mean she’s any less afraid,” Sophie said. 

Wheatley hummed in acknowledgment but it sounded slightly faraway, like he was putting his attention into something else. 

“Well,” Luis said, “We have two options. Someone goes back home and tries to talk to her, or we just drop it and try again next year.” 

Rafael began to cry harder. 

“... Maybe we have one option,” Luis said, slightly quieter this time. 

“Dad already tried, though, and we uh… Heard how that went,” Maya said. 

“I’ll try again,” Wheatley said, “I’ll talk to her again, she’s just… She’s being her good ol’ protective self, isn’t she? That’s all it is, Rafael, she doesn’t think anything you’re doing is stupid, I promise it.” 

“How do you know?” Rafael said, almost accusatory. 

“She was mad at me. That was it, she was mad at me so she was saying things that she didn’t mean because she was mad.” 

“She said some pretty awful stuff about you, too,” Sophie pointed out, “Was that all her being angry?” 

Wheatley paused. “Yeah, Soph. Sometimes people say things they don’t mean cause they’re angry.” 

Chell felt a discomfort settle in the base of her spine at that pause, the long, contemplative pause.  _ Fuck.  _

* * *

Wheatley had entered the house around sunset, Chell was sat on the couch, boredly flipping through the pages in a book without really absorbing anything. 

“Love…” He began, in a slightly weary tone, “We need to talk.” 

“I said no already.” 

Wheatley took a deep, steadying breath. “They heard what you said.” 

“I was made aware.” 

“They’re upset. They just want a chance to try. That’s all they want,” Wheatley was almost pleading. Chell put her book down, and looked at him, “And Sophie told me that it was probably just… Nerves about sending them away.”

“And if it is?” 

“You’re going to have to eventually,” Wheatley said, “Eventually they’re gonna move out of the house and get married and live their own life. You know that. You had to keep telling  _ me  _ that about Sophie.” 

“But not when they’re twelve they won’t.” 

Wheatley took a moment to look at her, thinking slowly through what he was going to say, before he walked towards her place on the couch, and sat next to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and squeezed. She could now see the little patch on the other part of his shirt that was clearly cried-into, slightly snotty. 

“I know you want to keep them safe. I want to keep them safe, too. Remember when we first had Sophie? I thought everything was gonna kill her, from playing in the dirt to thunderstorms. Remember when she skinned her knee for the first time?” 

Chell  _ could  _ remember, yes, Wheatley quite literally passed out as Sophie cried and cried. It took a  _ long _ explanation of what an injury such as that actually was, but Chell somewhat empathized. His primary memory of an injury was Chell quite literally bleeding to death in his arms. 

“I do.” 

“I think you’re doing… Maybe not the same thing, definitely not the same thing, no fainting here, but you know… A similar thing. I talked to Garrett about this last night, he said he thought Raf had a chance. Why not let them try?” 

Chell exhaled sharply. “What if something goes wrong?” 

“I don’t know,” He admitted, “But you’ve seen them. They’re in a state. The least you could do is let them try. I’m sure they’ll be all the happier that you let them do this.” 

“I don’t think they’ll make it,” Chell said, a vain last attempt

“I don’t think that’s our call to make for them. They want to try, don’t they? They have my faith, then.” 

She was silent. She hated this conversation. She hated so much as the misty idea of watching her kid move into a  _ dormitory  _ at  _ twelve.  _

“They want your faith, Chell. They need it.” 

There was a beat, then two, before she dropped her arm down around Wheatley’s waist and squeezed. “I… I guess.” 

Wheatley lit up, showering her in a small barrage of kisses and thank-yous, an overexcited puppy of a man. The illusion of a mature, somewhat serious person from moments before completely gone. Chell sighed inwardly.  _ I can’t believe I’m letting them guilt me like this.  _

* * *

Rafael had once more locked themselves in their room, Wheatley hadn’t told them the news. The two of them walked up the stairs, the next morning after their discussion, and Wheatley knocked two shy knocks on the door. 

“What,” Came Rafael’s half-annoyed-half-sulking voice. 

“It’s me,” Wheatley said, “Can we talk?” 

“Sure.” 

  
Wheatley opened the door, Chell standing next to him. Rafael frowned. Wheatley nudged Chell’s arm, and Wheatley smiled hopefully at Rafael. 

“What do you want?” They asked, slightly accusatory. 

Chell didn’t know how to  _ open  _ the sentence, so she didn’t bother. “I changed my mind. You can audition.” 

The change of their face was drastic, a sudden lighting up of their eyes and a broad grin moving over their features. “Really?” 

“Really,” Chell said, allowing herself a small, supportive smile. 

Rafael shot up like a rocket, just about charging the two of them in the doorway, before wrapping both of their arms around Wheatley, who _was_ leaning casually in the doorway before he fell over with the force of their hug. They were laughing, thanking Wheatley over and over, as Wheatley stroked their head, chuckling with them. 

“Thank you, thank you, thank you, Dad, I knew you could convince her,” They said, nose pressed firmly into his chest. 

“Hey, hey, that was all you kids. I was just the messenger,” He said.

Chell stared at the two of them for a moment, before silently walking back downstairs. 

~~~

The mail came once in a week, Sophie typically was the one to go pick it up from town hall. There was rarely anything, but this week, there was a single letter, addressed to  _ The Family Of Rafael Reyes-Wright.  _

Sophie admittedly wanted to open it. In fact, by the time the house was in sight, she was close to just saying  _ screw it  _ and tearing the letter open, just to know what the verdict was, but she didn’t. She put the letter in her back pocket and enjoyed the spring day as much as she could. 

Nobody went in with them for the audition, and they were silent about it the whole way home. They had no idea how it went. Sophie just  _ desperately  _ wanted to know. 

By the time she got into the house, she threw the letter on the table like it was going to burn her if she held it any longer. She couldn’t resist. 

Chell turned around and quirked an eyebrow at her. “It’s for Raf.” 

Her eyebrows shot up, a moment of understanding. Sophie held up two crossed fingers and shot her mother a smile, before walking to the stairwell and calling the siblings down. “There’s a letter for Raf!” 

Wheatley was the first one down, followed by Rafael and then the twins, basically, all falling over each other. Sophie pointed to the letter as Rafael nearly dived for it, before tearing open the sides and pulling out the folded paper inside. 

“Congratulations to Rafael Reyes-Wright for your admittance to New Detroit Vocational School Of The Arts for the fall season this upcoming school year,” Rafael said aloud. There was much more to the letter itself but they didn’t bother reading it, dropping the letter down and squealing in unbridled glee as they turned around and hugged Wheatley. 

An uncontrollable grin spread across Sophie’s face as she came up behind Raf and squeezed them, too. The twins then joined the group hug, before two, slightly floury arms came to hug them to. 

“I did it, I did it, I did it!” Rafael said, muffled by the bodies of the rest of the family squishing them, “I got in!” 

“I’m not the least bit surprised,” Sophie said, “I knew you could.” 


	4. Apology

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i have nothing to say for myself halksdjfhlakdj i'm sorry i have the time management of a walnut

Chell wasn’t a  _ fan  _ of having Raf away from home, but the progress reports she was being emailed were proof enough that this was probably the right move. 

_ Excellent student, above and beyond,  _ and  _ advanced placement  _ were sentiments regularly repeated in the emails over and over again. Occasionally she’d see  _ a pleasure to work with  _ and  _ has the makings of a great musician. _

Chell smiled to herself, as she stared out the window of the car. Garrett was driving them all up to see their first concert, their  _ final  _ concert before winter break began and they could come home for a month or two. She’d been quietly excited the whole night. 

Wheatley and the kids were completely passed out in the back of the car, and Garrett eyed them in the rear-mirror for a moment, seemingly checking if they were still asleep. They only had a half-hour left till they reached. 

“Excited?” He asked, giving her that slightly-questioning look he often did.

She nodded.

“Good.” There was a pause, a long, drawn out pause, “Did you ever tell Raf that you were sorry?” 

“What?” 

“Did you ever apologize? For saying going to the school was a stupid idea?” He asked, “They were beat up about it even when they left.”

“I thought things were fine,” She said, “They never said anything to me… Or Wheatley, for that matter.” 

“They did to me,” Garrett said, eyes still on the road, “So make sure you tell them, at some point. Soon, I hope.” 

Chell looked out the window and fidgeted, uncomfortably, with the little box in her hands. “I got them a gift.” 

“That’s a start, but you know… You gotta actually  _ say  _ you’re sorry.” 

She frowned.

“No, no,” Garrett warned, “Don’t gimme that shit. Apologize. Presents aren’t an apology. Pretending like nothing happened isn’t an apology. You  _ know  _ that. You’re not infallible. Hell, I’d say you’re overprotective”

“No I’m-!,” Chell snapped, and then bit her tongue as Wheatley stirred in the back seat. She started again, whispering with force, “No I’m not.” 

“How old is Sophie?” 

“Fifteen, in January, why?” 

“Right, she’s helping you run the bakery, goes to school, takes care of her siblings and you hardly let her stay out past dark,” He said flatly, “When I was her age I basically had free reign of myself.” 

“Well she’s still really young, you kno-”

“No she’s not! She’s gonna be eighteen in three years,” He said, “You know. A big girl. An  _ adult.  _ What’re you gonna do if she decides she wants to move out of town?” 

Chell didn’t answer. She didn’t really have a good one.

Garrett shrugged. “Just something to think about. That’s all.” 

The rest of the car ride was silent.

* * *

When they reached the theater, Chell marveled slightly at how grand all of New Detroit was. When they dropped off Rafael, a semester ago, she was shocked, but now at night - with the glittering lights and the fancy sign announcing the New Detroit School of Music Choral Department Concert - she felt almost intimidated. As they passed, she noticed the subheading -  _ featuring the New Detroit Cardinal Singers.  _

Wheatley and the children went off to the bathrooms to straighten up a little bit, Chell and Garrett waited around in the lobby, when she finally caught sight of Rafael beginning to file towards the stage entrance. They were in choir robes, drowning in the sightly-too-large red robes, holding them up like Cinderella running from the ball at midnight. 

Rafael caught sight of Chell and Garrett, seemingly, and she gestured for them to come over. They started speed walking, then breaking into a jog, nearly tripping as they finally reached Chell. She threw her arms open and crushed them in a hug.

“I’m glad you came!” Rafael said, looking her up and down, “I guess they said dress-code was formal?”

Chell nodded. She crouched a little to get to eye level with them, and produced the box out of the pocket of her dress. “I got you something,” As Rafael turned over the box in their hands, she nudged them, “Go on. Open it.” 

It was a little purple hydrangea pin. They liked flowers, and it caught her eye when she first saw it - unable not to think of them as she toiled over buying it. Their eyes lit up. “Thank you, mom!” 

“No need to thank me. It’s a congratulations for your first actual performance,” She paused, “And an apology. I’m sorry about what I said, and I’m sorry for not letting you audition for so long. I mean that.” 

They smiled a little at her, pulling the pin out of the box and handing it to her. “Pin it to my choir robes and I’ll forgive you.” 

She smiled right back, relieved. “Of course.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just as a quick note - there's gonna be some variance in the chapter length because this work is long and I wanna make sure chapters aren't agonizingly long to read! but for the most part they'll be under 2k words each


	5. Black Patch

Often Rafael thought back to that performance, the first of many - three years worth, as they took on increasingly difficult work, increasingly more responsibility. 

“Dad,” They complained, their first day home from a long break. They were fifteen, now, and they were bothered by something. Their brow furrowed as they tried to read the music in front of them, a frown curled on their face, “There’s been like… This black patch, right here,” They said, gesturing off to the side of their face, “For like a week. Is that normal?” 

“Huh? What?” 

“There’s a black patch in my left eye, and it won’t go away. I guess it’s getting a little bigger, but not much.” 

There was a pause, where Wheatley stood kind of dumbfounded. “Chell? Chell come here!” He called upstairs, with a minor amount of panic in his voice. 

“What? Is that bad?” They asked, their fathers’ panic contagious. “Did something happen?” 

Chell came downstairs, looking one-part-worried, one-part-annoyed. “What?” 

“Raf says they have a black patch in their vision. They say it’s not going away.” 

“It’s getting a little bigger too,” They added, “Though it’s been pretty slow.” 

And then, all hell broke loose in the house. Raf was herded into a car with minor protest -  _ “Wait! I need my music, hold on!”  _ \- and Chell questioned them six ways from Sunday.

“What happened? Since when? Why didn’t you tell me earlier? Does it hurt?” 

“Uhh, I don’t know, I thought it would go away! It just showed up one day after I tripped and fell, it’s nothing, it doesn’t even hurt it just makes my eye feel weird.” 

They’d gone all the way to New Detroit, to an optometrist with lasers and the like, who proclaimed straight-forwardly that this was a retinal hemorrhage. 

“A what?” Wheatley asked. 

“Retinal hemorrhage, sir. A blood vessel broke in Rafael’s retina, causing blood to move over their light sensors. They can’t see because there’s blood over the part allowing them to see.” 

“What?” Raf almost shouted from their place in the exam chair. They white-knuckle gripped the arms of the chair, eyes darting between their parents, searching desperately for some kind of reassurance. 

“So what do we do?” Chell asked, “Is this life threatening? Reversible?” 

“They’d need laser eye surgery-” 

“Laser?” Raf squeaked out.

“It wouldn’t hurt,” The doctor said with a good-humored smile, “Though you’d have to wear an eyepatch for awhile.” 

* * *

The surgery went well, and though their eyesight was rapidly deteriorating, Rafael was nothing but sunshine. Sophie got into culinary school in New Detroit, and around the same time, Rafael graduated from their vocational school with high honors - passing out with one of the highest jury scores of the graduating class. 

Rafael was happy. That much was at least a cold comfort to Wheatley. Despite their failing health, they were happy. 

Their first three concerts with the Cardinal Singers were done partially-blind. 

“My eyes are  _ useful,  _ sure, but I don’t exactly need them,” They said to their doctor, when they informed them that they were suffering from macular degeneration, “I’m already learning braille sheet music. It’s not a huge issue.” 

“How old are you?” The doctor asked, “Sixteen, right?” 

“Yep!” 

“Don’t you have school?” 

“No, I graduated early. I sing in the Cardinal Singers, now, so as long as someone doesn’t tell me I’m going deaf, I have no issues with my situation.” 

“Well these shots should slow down the degeneration but there’s no guarantees.”

They shrugged. “Do we know the root cause?” 

“Not yet,” The doctor said with a sigh.

“Oh well, that’s fine.” 

Wheatley listened on in horror. 

“Seeing’s overrated anyways,” They said with a little giggle. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Buckle up kids, it's 'bout to go from Bad To Worse


	6. Berceuse de Jocelyn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _ **IMPORTANT TUTORIAL THING:**_ this is best experienced with music, so when there’s a link in the story, click that and let the song play in the background if possible! Obviously this can be enjoyed without but you know... The Full Vibes include some music. I’ll list the songs in the end note!  
> 

Wheatley was somewhat nervous in the crowd, but he’d sat through about two and a half hours of absolutely  _ captivating  _ opera excerpts, and Rafael, as they’d found out when handed the programs, was the finale. They had been performing with the Cardinal singers for nearly a year, then, and this was their first performance as the featured musician. 

They stepped out onto the stage in their neat little tuxedo, the purple hydrangea pin Chell had given them pinned to their lapel. Rafael had spoken of the old, severe music critics that would attend, they said that the only thing that mattered was that they impressed those guys in the slightest. Wheatley disagreed but couldn’t dissuade them.

One of them must’ve been sitting next to Wheatley, occasionally scribbling something in a notepad. They sometimes looked pleased by the musicians, but as soon as Rafael took the stage, his expression soured slightly.

Wheatley barely heard the first part of their introduction speech, bits and pieces in-and-out as he read over their name over and over again, trying to ignore the critic next to him,  _ Rafael Reyes-Wright singing Nessun Dorma. Nessun Dorma. Nessun Dorma- _

“I hope you all enjoy my rendition of Nessun Dor-” Just then, as the small chamber orchestra put up their instruments, a baby began to cry in the back of the audience. A flustered mother stood to leave, and Rafael looked back and forth between her and the orchestra, her and the orchestra. “Uh, one minute, ma’am! Don’t go quite yet, it’s fine that they’re crying!” 

They quickly climbed into the pit, whispering loudly among the orchestra as the startled mother continued to grab her stuff. They then, with surprisingly little issues given their very much half-blind state, jumped over the barrier and jogged up towards the woman just as she reached the exit, tripping only minimally over the step between the first break of seating and the second. “Wait, wait, wait. We only have a few minutes left anyways, here, uhhh…” They scratched the back of their neck, their voice loud enough for Wheatley to hear even conversationally, “Okay, I know you just saw me nearly face-plant back there, but could I see your baby for just a moment? I think I can help if you’d, uh, not mind. I’ve already made a fool of myself coming up here, so you don’t look bad at all, don’t worry.” 

They leaned in and whispered something inaudible from where Wheatley sat. The woman nodded and said something that he couldn’t hear as she handed them the still-crying baby. Rafael, more carefully, returned to the stage and motioned for someone offstage to dim the lights. They complied. 

“Change of plans, I will not be singing Nessun Dorma, and frankly… I’ve spared you all seeing that, so I won’t apologize,” They laughed awkwardly. A low chuckle rolled over the audience. Their graceful demeanor from earlier was completely gone. It was suddenly so starkly apparent to the whole audience, Wheatley included, that they really were staring at a half-blind teenager in a tuxedo. They gestured awkwardly to the band, who put up their instruments and began to play over the crying baby, a sweet tune. “This is the lullaby from Jocelyn, I think. I think it's informally Cachés Dans Cet Asile, but I could very well be wrong. Thank you band, for stalling for me, we can carry on now.” 

They waited a bar as the [melody](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uWg4c8sAG3s) shifted slightly and they took in a deep breath. The whole auditorium, with the exception of the still quite-upset baby, was silent. 

_ “Cachés dans cet asile où Dieu nous a conduits, _

_ Unis par le malheur, durant les longues nuits. _

_ Nous reposons tous deux endormis sous les voiles. _

_ Ou prions aux regards de tremblantes étoiles.” _

The music picked up to be something slightly merrier. 

_ “Oh ne t'éveille pas encor _

_ Pour qu'un bel ange de ton rêve _

_ En déroulant son long fil d'or, _

_ Enfant, permette qu'il s'achève.” _

At the last word, they seemed to remember they were also trying to impress an audience, and slowly crescendoed. The baby had since quieted it’s crying, just a little, as Rafael rocked them back and forth. As the band played a short interlude, Rafael looked up to give the audience a small, uncomfortable smile, before they went back to looking fondly down at the baby in their arms. The critics' expression had gone from a slight annoyance to outright disbelief. 

_ “Dors, dors, le jour à peine a lui. _

_ Vierge Sainte, veillez sur lui.”  _

The band played on for a while longer, Rafael swaying slightly, doing a waltz all by themselves on stage with the baby, who was now silent in their arms. Their eyes met one of the members of the orchestra, and they visibly stiffened, something on their face changed to look somewhere between realization and panic. 

_ “Dors, dors, le jour à peine a lui. _

_ Vierge Sainte, veillez sur lui!”  _ As they ended the phrase, the band went silent, and they held the final note for a long time, before it petered off into vibrato. 

Before the audience could applaud, they held up a finger, before slowly moving it to their lips. Wheatley was almost certain nobody was even breathing. He certainly wasn’t. They quietly walked down the stairs and towards the mother, who was still standing by the door, the only sound was their dress shoes clicking softly against the wooden staircase. The woman, and frankly, everyone else was staring at them completely dumbfounded, before they handed her the baby and smiled. The woman silently left the auditorium with her child. 

There was a full minute where there was no noise. Rafael just stared at the door with a painfully fond expression. 

They seemed serene, even pleased with themselves, then as they seemed to remember the audience and they blanched, eyes wide. Awkwardly, they returned to the stage, and bowed, face red, smile clearly plastered on and uncomfortable. 

The applause that came was thunderous, roaring and cheering as they stood up there, clearly seconds from passing out. They bowed again, and another time, before stammering out a meek thank you, a reminder to file out in an orderly fashion, and a well wish for everyone to have a good night, and all but running off stage. 

Chell nudged Wheatley, knocking him from his deep thought. She smiled at him, tears in her eyes. Her hand came up to wipe a tear he didn’t noticed he shed off his face. 

“We didn’t do half bad, huh?” He said. 

“They’ve got your grace under pressure, that’s for sure,” She said, laughing a little to ease the tension. 

* * *

The review was in the paper next week, and Rafael couldn’t bring themselves to read it - both because squinting for long enough to read a newspaper column was a pain in the ass  _ and  _ because of the nerves. Their family sat around the table, and Luis stepped up to read it aloud, blah-blah-blahing through the critics review of the rest of the performances. 

“Oh! Here it is,” He said, “Sh, sh, this is the important part.” Everyone fell quiet, and Luis cleared his throat to begin. 

“I was most surprised with the finale performance. It was  _ supposed  _ to be a performance of Nessun Dorma by Rafael Reyes-Wright, which I admittedly didn’t have high hopes for. An eighteen-year-old with completely unproven soloist talent - even a prodigy such as them-” 

“I’m a  _ prodigy? _ ” They said, incredulous.

“-probably would fall flat compared to their fellow Cardinals. However, this was possibly the strangest performance I’ve seen in a very long time. Mx. Reyes-Wright had gone out of their way to sing to a baby, doing a wonderful rendition of Berceuse de Jocelyn that could rival that of Tino Rossi. You could hear a pin drop in that auditorium after they finished. It left me with chills. I believe their parents were sat next to me-”

“You guys sat next to Antonio Woods?” Rafael said, whipping their head around to face their parents. 

“-and their father put it very well. They did a very good job with Mx. Reyes-Wright. The actual performance itself was much less polished than something I would expect from a Cardinal Singer, they certainly didn’t have the confidence on stage of a singer as skilled as they are, but it was an incredible and moving performance nonetheless. Not a dry eye in the auditorium, I don’t think. I look forward to seeing their work in the future.” Luis put down the paper after that and turned to face their sibling, who grinned ear-to-ear.

“He liked it!” They squealed, “Oh my god he liked it!” 

“He said your performance needed polish,” Maya said offhandedly, earning two simultaneous punches in either shoulder from Sophie and Luis respectively, “Ow! What the hell - that’s what he said! I honestly kind of agree-  _ Ow!”  _ She said a second time as Rafael punched her left shoulder.

“Both of you are right and I’m enjoying my moment,” Rafael said flatly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The song was Tino Rossi's version of Berceuse de Jocelyn! I picked it because I imagine Rafael to be a tenor or contralto and it's a deceptively simple-sounding piece. 
> 
> This section is also based off a real life story of an Operatic Soprano having a baby cry during the finale piece of her concert. She goes into the audience, takes the baby, and sings it to sleep. Apparently, the auditorium was dead silent for a full seven minutes after she did this.


	7. Stairway To Heaven

Rafael got a small apartment nearby the concert hall with the modest amount of money they were making. Sophie offered to stay with them, to help them get around, but they declined. They valued what little independence they had, and for the most part, could make their way around with a walking stick and a bit of care. It was nearer to everything, the doctors, the hospitals, the concert hall. The one thing it was not nearer to was their parents. 

They called every day, though, talked to their folks about their day, how much they missed them. They came on the weekends, though, whenever they could, but they were always a little absorbed into their work. Their music. 

“So, Dad…” They said, one morning, cradling their cup of tea in both hands. “Uh… I’ve been experiencing a lot of muscle pain, you know? It’s been really bad.” 

“Oh dear, do you want me to call mom? Do we need to go to the doctors again?” 

“Ah, yeah… Uh, one step ahead of you, sorta. I went to the doctors before I came home, and uhh… They did some bloodwork, and uh…” They scratched the back of their neck, then coughed a couple of times, “So…” 

“Well?” 

“I have a type of anemia,” They said, slowly working through each word. “It’s not a big deal, don’t freak out or anything, it’s just… My blood’s all messed up. My bone marrow doesn’t work. You know? Already had the worst probable thing happen-” 

“Huh?” Wheatley’s voice raised a notch higher than he intended to.

“Relax! Relax. Reeeeeeelax… Worst probable thing is going blind, and that uh. Well. That’s happening right now, isn’t it?” 

_ Probable? Probable and not possible?  _

“Would possible make you feel better?” Rafael asked, taking a long sip of their drink. Sometimes it was funny how well his children knew him. 

“It’s not what you said, though.” 

They stood up, kept a hand on the countertop as they walked around towards him. They leaned their weight on him, hugging his waist tightly. “Yeah. It’s not,” They said with a tone in their voice that Wheatley couldn’t quite identify and desperately wanted to. 

* * *

Rafael laid in bed. Their body ached. That was a constant, then, the pain a constant background noise.  


They tilted their face slightly towards the window and frowned. Though these moments were infrequent, the pain they caused Rafael was sharp - they longed to see what the woods looked like, how the trees changed. It was all a vague blur, now, splotches of color that didn’t really mean anything. 

_ Should’ve gotten a better look at it while you still had eyes, Raf.  _

They shook their head, forcibly dispelling the thought from their mind. 

They’d bought a vinyl record player back in New Detroit, but it was nice to have it back home. When they were younger, they’d have killed or died to have it. 

They turned to their side and winced, feeling around on their nightstand for the little switch, flicking it. The turntable began to spin and the record slowly lowered itself down onto the record. 

They didn’t really realize they’d like Led Zeppelin, but they were introduced to more music than they’d known could’ve existed. It was one of those things they were eternally grateful for. They smiled.

[_Stairway To Heaven_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QkF3oxziUI4) played quietly, filling in the lonely, oppressive silence in their room. Almost on instinct they began to mutter, guessing at the chords into the open air. 

“A minor, E augmented-? Yeah. C. D. G-to-A.” 

They laughed. The house, as far as they knew, was empty, the wind coming in peacefully through their open window. Nobody would get annoyed with a little sing-along, now would they? Nobody there to interrupt save for maybe the sourdough starter. 

_ “There’s a lady who’s sure, _ _  
_ _ All that glitters is gold, _

_ And she’s buying a stairway to Heaven,”  _ They sang, vaguely projecting their voice towards the woods their room faced. 

Before they could continue to sing, it devolved, slightly, into a laugh. “Oh fuck,” They said to themselves, unable to stop laughing despite how insanely painful it was, “That’s gonna be me soon, isn’t it?” 

Rafael was caught between further laughter at the absurdity of missing  _ trees  _ and beginning to cry at the ultimate tragedy that was their hilariously short life. They wanted to see again. They wanted to run. They wanted to  _ stand  _ during their performances. They wanted to be able to tour the continent, they wanted to step up to the plate and take over the school and teach the next generations of musicians and  _ actually find out their voice part.  _

God, they didn’t even have a fucking  _ true voice part.  _ They wouldn’t live to see that day, either. 

The ache in their body grew sharper and sharper, and Rafael wasn’t sure if this was their mind making their pain physical, but a sob, accidentally, escaped. 

“No,” They said into the air, “No, no, no, stop.” 

They began to take quick, heavy breaths, desperate to just breathe the tears away. “No, no, no,” They said, “No, you can’t start crying today.” 

They threw an arm over their eyes, frantically tapping on the nightstand until they found the switch to  _ shut the damn record off.  _ They were still breathing heavily. The tears were threatening to officially come, but they couldn’t, they couldn’t let themselves do it. “No crying. No tears. You can’t start crying today. You start today and you won’t stop,” They said, voice getting more hoarse and thin and breathy until it was a wisp of the strong, operatic voice they normally had, “You can’t mourn yourself so early. You can’t do that, Rafael. You’re not dead yet.” It sounded pathetic when they said it aloud, but it was all they had, in that moment. 

They managed, just barely, to contain the tears, but continued to breathe heavily for several minutes after that, in painful, acute silence. Their ache only worsened. 

Unbeknownst to them, below the window a story down, their family, mom, dad, all their siblings, heard every last word. They stared in horror at the open window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's Stairway to Heaven by Led Zeppelin! Though I feel like that's obvious


	8. No Other Choices

Chell stared at the ceiling and wondered what the fuck she was supposed to do. They were dying. Who the hell was she kidding? Her child was dying. 

They were dying and she was supposed to help. She was supposed to fix this. But, for once in her life, she was totally helpless. She slung an arm over her eyes, willing herself not to think about how they had said it:  _ “You’re not dead yet.”  _

_ Yet. _

God, they didn’t even think that they were going to survive. 

She wracked her brain for anything,  _ anything  _ that was going to help. Anything with technology advanced enough to help. 

_ No. Oh god no. We couldn’t.  _

She’d clawed her way out of that place not once, not twice, but  _ four times  _ in her life. How was she gonna do it a fifth? How was she gonna let herself go back there and put everyone in danger all over again? 

All for her kid. 

She put both of her hands on her face and dragged them down. 

She had to let this one go. She knew she should. 

But she couldn’t. She’d burn everything for the family she’d fought tooth-and-nail to have. 

“Wheatley,” She said quietly. He was obviously awake next to her.

“Yes, love?”

“I think we have to go back.” 

He audibly gulped in the silence of the evening. “I… I don’t know.” 

“What choice do we have? You heard them, today.” 

“It’s… I…” He sighed, “Maybe it’ll get better?”

“It won’t. You know it won’t. We should go while they still have the strength to make the trip.” 

“She’ll kill us,” He muttered, “You know that. There’s no way She’ll let us go another time.” 

“How many times have we killed Her, between the two of us?” She asked, “I don’t want to miss out on the chance to help them.” 

“I know,” He murmured, “I know.” 

* * *

The drive was a long one, and a nerve wracking one at that. Chell wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do if things went south - Rafael couldn’t really see all that well and Wheatley was as useful as he always was.

They reached the massive hole in the ground before the sun reached its height. She wasn’t sure where things were going to go from here. 

And so they began to descend, slow as they went, Rafael holding onto one of their hands like they were a little kid. It was almost funny, they were nearly as tall as Wheatley, and they were holding her hand like they did when they were five.

“Watch your head,” Chell would say every so often, as they ducked and weaved their way around the bowels of the facility. They kept wandering down, down, down, and finally, reached an impasse - where there should’ve been a catwalk, there was, instead, a chasm that went down with seemingly no bottom. 

“Oh,” Rafael said, “Throw a metal thing down. We’ll hear if it touches the bottom.” 

The whirring of the facility was louder, here, and Chell knew that a little further they would be in Her domain. She picked up a bit of scrap metal and threw it down. Rafael closed their eyes and listened intently, the clattering getting more and more echoey, the echo falling for nearly a full minute before it hit the ground with a dull  _ thud.  _

“Cool so uh, we’re not jumping down there,” Rafael said, “Not unless we’re content starting our new lives as mole-people.” 

Chell looked at Rafael and then to Wheatley.

_ No. No. No no no no no. This is not happening like this.  _

She didn’t know what to do. She racked her brains for a minute, in desperate search for some kind of workaround, some kind of solution. She’d gotten herself out of the impossible thousands of times before. She could get herself out of the impossible again. God, she had to, she had to because this wasn’t just about her, this was about  _ her child.  _

Rafael put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey,” They said, unequivocally gentle, “Hey it’s fine-” 

“No.” She grunted, pushing their hand off her shoulder. 

She stared at the chasm. It was over before it started. What the fuck else was she supposed to do, the protector, the caretaker, was defeated by a giant functionally-bottomless-pit. 

“Love-” 

“ _ No. _ ” She said again, more forcefully. 

“It’s fine,” Rafael said softly, “Please, mom, it’s fine.” 

“I  _ said  _ no!” She snapped. 

There was a long pause where she stared at Rafael’s face, cloudy greyish eyes full of disappointment, face pulling into a frown. “Mama…” They muttered.

They hadn’t called her  _ mama  _ in years. Somehow that made everything worse. 

“It’s fine,” They said, “We did our best, didn’t we?” 

“But we didn’t  _ get  _ anything out of this,” She muttered to herself.

“Yes we did. We learned that this isn’t a worthwhile avenue. Let’s just go home. Whatever solution could come out of this place isn’t one I want anyways.” 

Rafael grabbed her hand and gently began to tug her away from the edge of the chasm. Those words bounced around her head.  _ Isn’t one you want, huh?  _ She though bitterly,  _ I know that you take your solutions where you can get them. _

She pulled her hand away from Rafael’s and began to lead the push back out, stuck in her own mind. 


	9. Turret Opera

Rafael frowned as they watched their mother push ahead. Wheatley looked at them apologetically, but didn’t have anything to say. 

They were dying. Everyone knew that.  _ They  _ knew that. 

Coming to terms with that wasn’t all that difficult. It was just the reality of their situation. They were a practical person, they didn’t know what they were supposed to do other than carry on. Wishing it wasn’t so wasn’t going to change things. 

Rafael felt as though they’d known this from that first surgery. Just as they woke up in the hospital room, eye patch over one eye, anesthetic still flowing through them, making their mind hazy, the thought that they were going to die bubbled up from somewhere deep within them. 

_ You’re going to die soon,  _ They had thought.,  _ What are you going to do?  _

They elected, that moment, that they were going to do as much as humanly possible with whatever time they had left. They would do anything they could to make a mark on the world with whatever time they had left. 

They supposed that’s why they were constantly working so hard. They couldn’t afford to take breaks, after all, the reaper was marching towards them much faster than he was anyone else. Once they decided they were going to become someone who mattered at least a little, coming to terms with everything else was easy. 

Watching their parents mourn was the hardest part of all of this. 

Their siblings, for the most part, just ignored that it was happening at all. They were going to have to watch each other die, eventually, like it or not. Sophie sometimes spoke to them like she was saying goodbye, but for the most part it was all very normal, talk of culinary school and work. Luis was fun to be around as always, and eternally accommodating. 

_ He’s gonna be a great leader,  _ they thought. 

Maya… Maya was difficult to be around sometimes. She hugged the tightest and said the least. In those silences, Rafael knew exactly what she meant to say. They wished they knew how to comfort her. 

Their parents were not the same case as their siblings.

Dad sunk into a haze of depression and awe. They felt it when they hugged him - stubble. Stubble on a normally staunchly clean-shaven man. It was in how he spoke to them. It was in everything he did. They wished they could take that burden from him and let him know that someone was going to have to leave them be.

Mom, however, was angry. Not at them, never at them, but she seemed to run on an internal combustion engine fueled by rage and spite, calmed only by their father, and here there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t love her into peace. None of them could. 

She clawed at every hope for their health. They were flattered by that, but didn’t see the point. It was the way she was spitting at the world for what was happening. It was the way she was blaming herself even then for not having some magical solution for everything. 

Their mother was a bastion of safety - but they could hardly stand to know that she was never going to accept that being there at all was more than enough. 

It was then, as they wondered how they could comfort their parents, they heard a tune. Sung by a voice clearly not human, it floated in from the corridor, a siren's song. Their legs carried them towards the source of the sound, entranced and pained by the voice. 

* * *

Rafael was missing, when Chell turned around, and in a moment of scrambling panic she whipped around and called their name. “Rafael?” 

“Over here!” 

As she got closer, she saw them, kneeling in front of a singing turret, humming along with the tune. Their eyes were filled with tears.

Chell grabbed them and hauled them up to their feet, they were still smiling down at the android. “Stay away from that, it’s dangerous,” She said sternly. 

“Thank you,” They said to it, “Thank you so much for that. I needed to hear that.” 

It kept singing it’s wordless tune as she pulled them away. They wiped their eyes. 

“Wasn’t that a beautiful song, mom?” They asked, “God, so beautiful.” 

“They sing a lot,” She muttered to herself, “I can’t deal with it anymore.” 


	10. Deep River

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to the beginning of the end.

Rafael had lost hope in survival that day, a year and change ago. 

That wasn’t to say that they weren’t happy with their life, as Sophie packed up their apartment for them -  _ “Rafael, you’re blind,” She said flatly, and they could hear the clinking of their silverware being put away into boxes, “You literally can’t do this.”  _ \- they felt gratefulness for ever having been there at all. 

They ran a hand across the windowsill and basked in the feeling of sun on their face. They loved New Detroit. They loved being a Cardinal Singer. They’d done dozens of concerts since they received the news, lived thoroughly and joyously. They supposed the only thing that made them sad, even a little bit, was the fact that their  _ final  _ concert - a concert dedicated to them, they thought, flattered - was coming up. They had to leave all of this. 

And then, they knew, though they didn’t say it, they had to leave everything behind. 

The doctors had told them they had four months. They wanted that four months with their family. They were certain they were holding the other Cardinals down anyways. 

As the sun warmed their cheeks, they were reminded suddenly of that turret, of the profound cold of Aperture - the place that chewed up and spat out their parents. They were reminded of the song that turret sang for them. 

Suddenly, to nobody in particular, they smiled. 

They knew what their final piece would be. 

* * *

Rafael was the finale of this concert - a wonderful one, too. The best, in Chell’s opinion. It was jovial, planned on the behalf of Rafael with some of their input. The theme was  _ finale,  _ each song a finale in it’s own right, one after the other, with grand solos from each other member of the choir.

She watched on bated breath, as they came forward and grinned out at the crowd. They had truly grown into the role - at least as much as they could’ve at nineteen. 

“Hello everyone!” They said with a grin, “I’ve been told it’s a full house - not that I can really confirm, so if I may, can I hear some applause for the Cardinals to prove it?” 

A cheer rolled through the audience, Chell couldn’t help but whistle and clap despite herself. 

Rafael laughed heartily. “Guess they weren’t lying. Thank you all for coming, tonight, for taking time out of your busy schedules to come and see me. As you may or may not know - it’s in the program but I can’t tell you all to read those when,  _ I  _ certainly didn’t-” Chell and the rest of the audience laughed despite themselves, “I’m retiring! ‘Retiring at nineteen?’ you say? Yes! As I’m sure the wheelchair and generally kind of skinny and pale appearance - I’ve been told I look pretty rough these days - let you know, I’m pretty sick. I won’t go too much into the details, but please don’t be sad! I’m not sad, for sure.” They cleared their throat and scratched the back of their neck. “So, for the finale of _Finale_ , I’m going to sing something that I heard in a rather strange place. I think it’s the most comforting song in the world - or, at least it has been for the last year. I cried when I first heard it. I think it's especially beautiful knowing how horrible that place was... Such beautiful music can come from the darkest places in the world. I’ll dispel the rumors now - It’s not Nessun Dorma. I don’t think anyone, especially me, wants to hear me botch that for my last performance on this stage, and maybe ever. I’ve avoided singing it this long, not gonna break that streak today, ahaha.” 

Their conductor wheeled them up on a little platform, the singers behind them. “Everyone enjoy the classic spiritual - Deep River.” They took a breath as the orchestra began their [tune](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I-cW5QZ2U1I), and smiled. 

“ _ Deep river… _ _  
_ _ My home is over Jordan!  _ _  
_ _ Deep river, Lord… _ _  
_ _ I want to cross over into campground. _ ”

The choir had grabbed under Rafael’s arms, helping them stand. Though a startled look crossed their face as they looked at either side of them -  _ Must be reflex?  _ Chell thought, despite herself,  _ You can’t even see -  _ at the Cardinals, they kept singing without a second thought. 

They had begun to hum along, the song suddenly doubly rich.

Rafael smiled as they looked back at the audience, and though Chell knew it was a delusion, it felt like they were looking straight at her. 

“ _ Deep river, _

_ My home is over Jordan… _

_ Deep River, Lord… _

_ I want to cross over into campground! _ ”

Their smile widened from it’s small, reserved little uptick of the lips to an outright grin. They didn’t seem to realize what they were doing, taking two steps forward towards the audience, away from the supportive arms of the whole choir. Their expressions turned bewildered as Rafael stepped away, gesturing, broad and honest to the audience as they sang. 

“ _ Oh don’t you want to go _ _  
_ _ To that gospel feast? _

They spread their arms, hands balling into fists as they reached their high note, impassioned as anything Chell had ever seen in her life. “ _ That promise land! _ _  
_ _ Where all is peace? _ ”

They smiled strangely, arms half-lowered at their side, splayed like a saintly portrait. Their eyes, half-rapturous, half-pained in an apologetic way, fell on Chell despite their blindness - a cloudy mirror of their father’s. 

“ _ Deep River, Lord… _ _  
_ _ I want to cross over into campground.”  _

The choir and the orchestra hummed the tune one last time, and as the flute played the last note of the song, there was an impenetrable silence as thick as when they sang the baby to sleep. They finally lowered their arms, and still smiling said, “Thank you all. I will miss this stage with all my heart.” 

And the applause began.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was the Amen Choir of The First Baptist Church's version of Deep River


	11. The Muse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the penultimate chapter

Laying in bed, aching, was their default nowadays. Wheatley often sat with them, stroking their hair, grading papers beside them. Sometimes he would read things aloud as he went, and there was something inherently healing about hearing his enthusiasm for the numbers as they were. 

It was so soothing to hear his voice. 

Their mother was much the same. Making their bed. Spoon-feeding them if they asked - which, honestly, sometimes they did just to feel her affections. She’d kiss the top of their head, and silently comb their hair. Sometimes she’d help them shave. 

“I’m sorry you have to do this,” They said with a laugh, “It’s supposed to be me taking care of you when you’re old and sick.” 

“You’re not old,” She said, half-fondly, half-pained. 

They paused. “Yeah. I’m not.” 

And when the two of them left their room, their siblings gone, too, Rafael would allow themselves the pleasure of contemplation. 

_ Four months.  _ They had four months. They didn’t say it, but that was the ticking timer on their life. They had to figure out some way to tidy up whatever business they had left in four months, and something about that terrified them. How would they pay their respect to everyone in that time? How were they supposed to tell everyone they loved them? How were they supposed to  _ thank  _ them? 

That feeling welled up in their chest, made its way to their throat, and nearly choked them. From that haze, from the aether of their emotions, a small melody came. 

They caught it. The pain in their body wasn’t so bad as it was before, something objectively healing about their father’s presence. The words weren’t quite coming to them but they knew the words were there underneath the soft, floating melody their mind had offered them.

_ The muse.  _ They thought, in slight awe. 

Doctor Desmond had always called it that, the muse, the very moment where the only way to get a feeling stuck in your body out of it was to make something. The reasons novelists wrote and musicians sang and artists painted. It was the driving force of creation in man, the desire to externalize and empathize with anyone who might,  _ might  _ feel something from listening. 

They scrambled for their punch-template and their stylus, for the muse in that moment had overtaken them. 

It was late at night, they knew, nobody else was there to share in this frenzied and sudden love for music, and they almost thought it was better that way. They never had any talent for composition, always better at performance. This was the first time in their life that the muse had found them, and the music to go with it came too. 

They almost wanted to change the meaning, as they wrote the words and composed the melody, painstakingly slowly, part by part. Braille sheet music and braille in general was a pain, tiresome and slow. They vaguely missed being able to write but it wasn’t important to their work. 

They smiled, as they finished the first section of the bass part.  _ This will be a fitting goodbye… No, no, not a goodbye.  _

_ A love letter. This is a fitting love letter.  _

* * *

Rafael had made it clear that they didn’t want to go to the hospital, they didn’t want to go back to New Detroit. They took painkillers, sat up in bed with the family crowded around them. That was pretty common. Wheatley held one of their hands, staring down at how worryingly thin they’d gotten. 

Everyone was talking, laughing even, the siblings were playful as always, but Wheatley wasn’t really present. He was just staring at them, still in awe of their grace, their strength. Flashes of the way they closed their eyes as they sang what might have been their final solo came to his mind. They tasted every word on their lips, moving through them as though the next word wouldn’t come, their total focus, their entire body in each syllable. 

They were always present. Wheatley admired that in them. 

He wasn’t sure where the thought came from, it came from somewhere very,  _ very  _ far back, almost entirely gone, but a voice that Wheatley did not have a name for said, slightly forlorn:  _ It only makes sense. They don’t have the time to waste.  _

Wheatley, without realizing it, gripped Raf’s hand a little harder. Tears pricked his eyes, but he kept it together best he could. 

“Dad?” They asked, “You okay?” 

He nodded, took a deep breath and offered Raf a smile. It seemed to be enough for Rafael, who went back to teasing Maya about her career-choices-to-be, but Chell shot him a look. Wheatley shook his head a little bit, a small dismissal.


	12. My Flight For Heaven

Wheatley and Chell were the last people in Rafael’s room that night. They’d smiled at their parents weakly, apologetically. “I’m sorry,” They said. 

Wheatley knew what that meant. Chell knew what that meant. The two of them stared at their child, their rising little star, and said nothing. 

“I wrote letters,” They said, with a little laugh, “They’re in braille, though. Sorry. Might take you a while to read them.” 

Another long, painful silence. 

“Can I have a hug please?” They asked, “I want a hug.” 

Their parents came forward and indulged the request. They accepted their hug gratefully.

“We love you so much,” Wheatley whispered. 

“I’m sorry we couldn’t do more for you,” Chell said. 

“It’s not your fault,” They said, “I love you guys so much. So,  _ so  _ much.” 

Their folks left the room in haunted, painful silence. They wanted to be left alone. 

A long time passed where Rafael basked in the affections of their family. The fever made them feel cold, but they were under probably four blankets. They didn’t want to sleep, quite yet, though the call was so tempting. They wanted to reflect for some time.

They’d made a begrudging peace with the disappointment that was their music-career. It was not enough, really, they’d not really done half as much as they wanted to. It was a disappointment, certainly, but they’d touched some people, they supposed. They’d done well. They made good music, they learned a lot for a nineteen year old. 

They wished they could have been the headmaster. They had a fighting shot. They always wanted to teach. 

They wished they could’ve seen the world with music. They had plans to send their siblings postcards and small gifts from every place they visited. It was a shame that someone else would have to be the Reyes-Wright to travel the world… But a shame that they could deal with. 

They wanted to have seen their siblings’ various weddings. That was a great disappointment. Not seeing the important highs of their life, not seeing them get married or have children, not seeing as their hairs started to turn grey. They tried to imagine themselves as old, as a dignified singer with the age and stateliness and skill to back them. 

They couldn’t. They could barely even really manage to gather an image of themselves as they looked now. They could only really imagine their smudge seventeen-year-old-face in the mirror, and even then, that memory was fading. Sophie still was blurry and nineteen, a little baby-faced. Maya and Luis still almost identical versions of each other, though they’d gathered from dad and everyone else that now they looked quite different. Luis, then, broad shouldered and though still lithe, very handsome. Maya, athletic and muscled. They couldn’t picture it, really. 

Rafael wanted to be there for their family. They were the most guilty about that. 

_ They shouldn’t have to experience this.  _

_ Well, true enough, but what could you do? This isn’t your fault.  _

And it wasn’t. This was a sleeping, secret little problem that lay dormant for  _ years,  _ and by tonight, would no longer be a problem. They wanted to survive until the morning, just to have the last few hours of life, but they had no measure of knowing when the sun began to rise. 

It had to be enough for them to merely reflect. 

_ It’s not a long trip, to wherever people go. Or at least I hope.  _

They wondered, then, if there was something waiting for them. Thoughts, first, came of hellfire and brimstone, the daunting image of the great unknown bad enough, but the simple thought that they hadn’t done enough in this life made their stomach churn. 

They put it out of mind. 

_ You did a lot, for nineteen. You did a lot. You spread a lot of music.  _ They paused for a moment, imagined the fuzzy faces of the audience members at one of the shows they performed at.  _ At least one of them. You helped at least one of those people. You had to have. You had to have told one of them the message they needed to hear.  _

They closed their eyes. They were content with that. 

_ I hope I did that for someone. I really do.  _

In that moment, they felt a weight leave them. They smiled into the darkness. The pain in their bones began to dissolve. They felt the strength return to their body. They felt as though if they opened their eyes again, they would see with beautiful clarity, sharper color and clearer edges than they even remembered seeing when they were young. 

But they didn’t want to.

Rafael had dropped their cross of self-denial. 

They vaguely recalled the doctors saying  _ four months,  _ and then smiled despite themselves. They’d only made it two. 

“Guess it’s time to go,” They said aloud, to nobody in particular. “It was a pleasure. I’m glad I was alive. I’m glad I got to sing. Thank you.” 

They allowed the weight of their chest to pull them down, down, down… 

And fell into a long, dreamless sleep. 

* * *

Sophie, from her place outside, didn’t cry. She just stood there, in the cool air. She had no idea what compelled her to be out there, that night, but she was suddenly very glad she was. 

“You’re welcome, Raf,” She said, in the vain hopes that maybe their ears caught it before they went, “And thank you for being here at all.” 

* * *

Luis and Maya kept their ears to the thin wall for several minutes after, waiting for a cough or a ‘just kidding’, but nothing came. Finally, Maya turned to Luis, and for the first time since they were children, had tears in her eyes.

“Luis?” She asked. 

Luis only nodded, then opened his arms as his twin fell, face-first into a hug. 

* * *

Chell didn’t like the feeling of loss. It felt like Wheatley all over again. Actually, frankly, it felt  _ worse.  _ Their whole life was in her care. She had only one job, to protect them, and now she had the ultimate understanding of her complete failure to do so. 

But she paused, at their last words. They bounced around her mind as she sat, alone. 

_ “I’m glad I was alive. Thank you.”  _

She was only happy Wheatley didn’t hear that.

* * *

Wheatley stood in the hallway, dumbfounded, absolutely dumbfounded. He had just watched the life slip from his child, heard their last words into the mist. He was overwhelmed. Flashes of their music came to mind, when they sang to that baby, Deep River, every single instance that Wheatley had ever heard them sing, over and over again. 

And then, the thoughts stopped when he thought about what they said. 

_ Thank you. _

“No, no,” Wheatley said, a low murmur as they stared at their sleeping form in their bedroom, “Thank  _ you,  _ Rafael.” 

A star lost from the sky. The night all the lesser.  


He could only pray Chell didn’t overhear.

* * *

The funeral was small. The Cardinal Singers attended - as per Rafael’s last requests, they didn’t come in black, they came in usual, lovely red suits. Rafael’s traditional little purple hydrangea lapel-pin that Chell had gotten them, now a permanent part of the uniform. It was handsome. Wheatley found he quite liked the addition.

It was an, unfortunately, somber affair. This was the only deviation from Rafael’s instructions. 

As everyone went up, spoke their eulogies, the choir sat in a block of red, heads down. Only one of them had the plan to speak, the rest, Rafael explained,  _ “will hopefully be a pleasant surprise.”  _

As the conductor - their teacher, Wheatley recognized - stood up and went towards the podium, her expression haunted.

“Hello everyone,” She said, carefully. “My name is Doctor Sarena Desmond. I was Rafael’s teacher and principal at The New Detroit Vocational School. I, later, became their choir director, and then their coworker in the Cardinal Singers. We have lost a star in the night sky, the choir of angels have gotten probably their best singer.” 

She took a breath. “Rafael asked me to play this recording for you, and then show you something they had done. It was important to them that this happened.” 

The woman put her head down as she pulled out her phone, sync’d with the speakers, and hit play on the recording. “Hello everyone!” Came their voice. A stab went through Wheatley’s heart. “It’s Rafael, here, delivering my official final message from beyond the grave. Pretty strange, huh? Hearing a dead persons voice. I wanted to say, firstly, thank you. I will live and die eternally grateful for everything, and I mean  _ everything  _ that you all have done for me. Thank you for believing in me, for attending my concerts, for your kind words, and for your love. That’s really the thing I’m most grateful for. I was loved so much… That’s not something everyone has. I struck it so lucky, didn’t I?”

They trailed off into a laugh, and there was a long pause. “I was never a good composer, I always wanted to be but it wasn’t what I was good at. Doctor Desmond used to call it  _ the muse.  _ I got the muse, awhile before recording this message. I wrote something, for the first - and, unfortunately, last - time in my life. I like it a lot. Please don’t take it as a goodbye. I really hope you don’t take it as a goodbye. It’s not a goodbye.” 

At that point, Doctor Desmond made a motion with her hand, and the choir stood up, and slowly began to file up towards the space left of the grave, in front of everyone. “I didn’t want to  _ say  _ goodbye to anyone, so I didn’t really, even though I probably should’ve. Sorry for being selfish in that sense. This, actually, is a love letter. To you. All of you. To everyone, really, but mostly to you guys. Pardon the… Incredibly Christian undertones to this. I’m just surprised I managed to write it at all. I bet you can tell which parts are about who. Just… Enjoy it, for me, okay? It’s the only thing I ever really made completely by myself. This will be the first time it will be heard, ever, outside of my head, so please enjoy. This is called My Flight For Heaven.” 

The recording went silent afterwards, finished. Doctor Desmond silently put up her hands, the choir slowly took a breath. They left a gap for where Rafael would have stood. 

They began [humming](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_6ONfnhXgCE), a beautiful, low hum. The lines of the hum wove in and out of each other, the entire choir’s eyes closed, the Doctor Desmond conducting slowly, carefully. 

_ “Charm me asleep, and melt me so _

_ With thy delicious numbers, _

_ That, being ravish'd, hence I go _

_ Away in easy slumbers…”  _

Wheatley’s heart stopped. He suddenly felt as though he might faint. 

_ “Ease my sick head, _

_ And make my bed,” _

With that, Chell grasped, suddenly, for his hand, and squeezed it tightly. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from the choir.

_ “Thou power that canst sever _

_ From me ill, _

_ And quickly still, _

_ Though thou not kill _

_ My fever!”  _ They began to grow louder and louder. 

_ “My fever! _

_ My fever…”  _

They backed away just at the last note, and stopped singing for just a second. The note rung in the air. 

_ “Fall on me like the silent dew, _

_ Or like those maiden showers _

_ Which, by the peep of day, do strew _

_ A baptism o'er the flowers.”  _

He could tell the siblings had rested their heads on one another, one of their hands coming from the other side of him to put a hand on top of his and Chell’s. 

_ “Melt, melt my pains _

_ With thy soft strains; _

_ That, having ease me given, _

_ With full delight _

_ I leave this light... _

_ And take my flight!” _ They held that last word for a long, long time. 

_ “For Heaven… _

_ For Heaven…  _

_ For Heaven…  _

_ Heaven…”  _

They returned to the same humming from earlier, but this time it had some different, imperceptible meaning. As it finished, the silence that stretched across the fields was a perfect, complete one. Not even birds sang. It was somehow more impenetrable than after they had sung that child to sleep, all those years ago. 

Wheatley was broken from his thoughts by the feeling of his tears hitting his lap. He was the first to move, looking left, then right, at his wife and children. Sophie was the one that had put her hand on his and Chell’s, as Luis put either arm around her and Maya. Maya was stone faced as always, Luis and Sophie cried silently. Chell cried, too, but for as many tears came down her face, she was smiling. 

_ She's proud.  _ Wheatley thought. 

_ I’m proud of you, too, Rafael.  _

Doctor Desmond turned back around, and bowed. A low applause came from the audience, but the stunned silence said more. “Thank you, everyone.” 

The rest of the funeral was in silence. They lowered Rafael into the ground, buried them silently, and then, finally, as everyone else left, Doctor Desmond approached Wheatley meekly. 

“Mr. Wright?” She asked softly. 

“Yes?”

“Firstly, my deepest condolences. If it’s been hard for us, I can’t imagine how difficult things are for you.” 

“Thank you,” Wheatley said, slightly numb to the well-wishes by this point. 

“But,” She began, “We want to ask… We would like to dedicate a statue in front of the theater to Rafael, and if City Hall agrees, the theater itself.” 

Wheatley stared stunned at her.

“I just thought I’d ask,” She said, and scratched the back of her neck, “It’s a lot. I wasn’t sure you’d want that for them. The other thing we wanted to do was amass the collection of recordings we have. The school wants to sell it to further fund the school or the Singers, but it’s  _ rightfully  _ yours, technically. We can discuss that stuff at a later time.” 

“Yeah, could we?” 

“Of course,” She said. “Thank you, for even considering it. We wanted to do something for them.” 

~~~~

The statue was a beautiful bronze color. It was from the moment they had stood up during their last performance, their arms splayed slightly at their sides, their head tilted, that strange, half-pained-half-peaceful expression on their face, that curious smile on their lips. 

Wheatley could almost hear the words of the song. 

At the footplate, their last words, as supplied by him. 

_ “I’m glad I was alive. I’m glad I got to sing. Thank you.”  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This song that Rafael "wrote" is Blake R. Henson's My Flight For Heaven. 
> 
> This story has been in my mind since I wrote ATNG. Literally. By the time the first chapter of that one came out, I have been thinking about this story. 
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this. I'd love concrit if you have it, and as always, feel free to follow me on tumblr and twitter. I have a few deleted scenes (some happier than others) from this fic that I cut for Focus Purposes, so I'll probably post them over there. If I do, I'll link back over here/eventually post them to AO3.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm so sorry for what I'm about to put you through. 
> 
> Here's my [Tumblr](https://parttwoactuallywrites.tumblr.com/), where I’ll hopefully post some extra-goodies as we go through. And yes, I am working on fluff, I promise. There’s a ton of sweet moments in this, just... Yeah. Sorry. 
> 
> BTW I now have a [Twitter](https://twitter.com/PartTwoTweets)! Doing my thing, yanno? Posting sporadically, updating infrequently, mostly just apologizing over and over for the things I write, which I’m already doing. Try chatting with me there! 


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